


Non-Conventional Vows

by Demidea



Category: Warcraft (2016)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Blow Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 11:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demidea/pseuds/Demidea
Summary: All Taria Wrynn wanted was a rehearsal ceremony before they officially appointed Anduin as Regent Lord.





	Non-Conventional Vows

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those "an idea hits at 2:00AM and was still fresh when I had my coffee at 8:00AM so I spent my free time at work writing it" type fics. Unbeta'd, so do forgive me in advance.

Sunlight slants diagonally through the stained glass of the Church of Light, painting the left side of the room in fiery light. It will be dark soon, something Lothar both dreads and looks forward to. On one hand, he’ll be back in his quarters and away from this ridiculous practice ceremony and the dress clothes Taria rummaged from Llane’s closet and stuffed him in. On the other, he’d be alone in his quarters with the day’s reports of how dire their city’s prospects were once Gul’dan re-musters his forces.

“Lothar?”

Lothar turns at his name, temporarily blinding himself in the sunlight, but when he blinks his eyes clear his mouth goes slack with awe. Khadgar walks up the aisle to meet him, dressed in an immaculate white robe, a blue coat fastened over his shoulders and waist. Lothar quickly recovers, offering the mage a crooked grin. “I see she got ahold of you as well, my dearest sister. Though I must say, yours suites you. Mine, well,” he rolls both shoulders, the fabric of his shirt snapping in protest where his shoulders are too tight, “were not fitted for me.”

Khadgar gawks at his shoulders for a moment, speaking seemingly without thinking, “The effect is not unflattering.”

Their eyes meet, and Lothar relaxes. That is, until said sister speaks, having entered the church behind Khadgar with his niece and nephew. “See, Anduin? Khadgar agrees with me.”

Lothar rolls his eyes at her, tilting his shoulder cheekily into a posture not befitting of royalty. “Khadgar can fight in his robe. I would tear this shirt the minute I tried to do the same.”

“Rest assured, Lord Regent,” another voice, deeper voice joins them from wings of the church. Lothar snaps back up to a more regal posture as Archbishop Faol approaches the podium, “I do not intend to fight you before appointing your regency.”

“Archbishop.” Lothar murmurs.

Faol doesn’t seem displeased however. “I understand at your sister’s _request_ ,” Khadgar and Lothar glance at each other, suppressing a smile, “we hold a rehearsal before your actual, purely ceremonial appointment.”

Taria clears her throat, which does nothing to cover Khadgar’s choked laugh.

“If I could have you gentleman kneel for me.” They both comply, Lothar wincing when his pants creak. Light he forgot how much he hated formal wear. “Do you, Anduin Lothar, agree to resume the throne of Stormwind, taking on all responsibilities of the crown unto Stormwind’s people, until his lordship Prince Varian Wrynn has had adequate time to prepare for such responsibilities?”

“I do.”

“Do you agree, then, to peacefully abdicate the throne in recognition of Varian Wrynn’s status as the recognized heir of the deceased King Llane Wrynn?”

“Of course,” Lothar says, then, hastily, “I do.”

“As Archbishop of the Church of Light, on behalf of the faith of Stormwind’s people, I appoint you, Anduin Lothar, Regent Lord of Stormwind.”

Faol touches Lothar’s temples, as if place a crown there. As strange as it may seem, though he’s been acting as Regent Lord for days now in the recovery efforts from the battle at the Morass, Lothar feels the weight of the responsibilities entrusted to him.

“Now.” Faol moves on, to Khadgar. “Mage Khadgar, under the gaze of Stormwind’s people, do you renounce your obligations to Dalaran and to those of the Violet Citadel.”

“I do.”

“Do you renounce all obligation to the Kindgom of Lordaeron, and the Kingship that holds the fealty of your family?”

“I- I do?” Khadgar glances at Lothar.

“Worry not, mage,” Faol says gently, “No one is questioning your loyalty. It would not do to have an advisor so close to the Regent Lord have conflicting masters.”

“No one is my master,” Khadgar says, his voice flat and worryingly steady. “Not anymore, at least.”

Archbishop Faol studies Khadgar. “You are to be sworn in as court conjuror?”

Khadgar looks over his shoulder at Taria. “That was the position offered to me, yes.”

“To be court conjuror to Wrynn’s Court is to swear fealty to the Court.”

“The entire court?”

“Well, yes.”

“Including the House of Nobles?” Khadgar asks.

Lothar meets his sister’s eye and they share a frown. He tries to catch Khadgar’s eye. “You would be court conjuror, directly under my command, especially in a time of war. I would not let them-”

“You are Lord Regent, Lord Lothar.” Archbishop Faol interrupts. “It is not wise to make promises, particularly regarding what the House of Nobles will ask of you and your advisors.”

“I’m not going to swear to them.” Khadgar says, now firm. “I was sworn to Dalaran, and they would have me ignore you in your time of need. I will not subject myself to another court of self-interested fools.”

“Khadgar,” Taria says, gently, “You must understand, the wounds Medivh left are deep. All will remember the time at Llane’s table when the Guardian would not answer for himself-”

“I’m not the Guardian! The Guardian-”

“-is a mage appointed by a special council and empowered by their collective mana stores,” Lothar recites, flipping himself over so he’s seated and no longer kneeling. “We know. You’ve told us. But the ideals you seek to uphold, those were Medivh’s ideals once, too. You may not be The Guardian, but you are our Guardian. What’s more, Medivh chose you. People know he chose you, consistently you, all through the course of his involvement of the war. You even wield Atiesh. No one will forget that. And when you are the one asking them to fight and die, they will ask why we should trust you.”

“I understand that. On some level, I see why people would assume the worst.” Khadgar’s now looking at him, determination set in his eyes. “But Lothar, I will not swear to the court. Not if there’s the slightest chance you or the court will try to prevent me from going where I am needed or doing what needs to be done.”

The silence that follow is tense, to say the least. Lothar glances at Faol, but can’t get a good read on the man. If he should have a private agenda, if he should want to advance his influence, or shatter the fragile hold Lothar has on the remaining nobles, he could use this moment against them later. Or, should anyone push to remove Khadgar from Stormwind...

“What will you pledge to, then, bookworm?” Lothar asks, because he knows Khadgar’s loyalty, and he knows Khadgar’s fierce desire to do what was right no matter the cost, and he could not bear to think of what would become of Stormwind should he lose this too.

Like a candle going out, Khadgar’s fierce defiance disappears, leaving a contemplative expression. Suddenly the boy is on his feet, facing Lothar, who slowly stands in response.

“I’ll pledge to your cause, Lothar.” His eyes drop and he corrects himself. “Regent Lord.” They return, never wavering from Lothar’s own. “I’ll pledge to protect your people, to fight by your side, be it on the battlefield or in the supply room or in the court. I’ll pledge to use my skills to your aid, to read as many books as it takes to find the answers to our current problems from the wisdom of the past. To make it so you do not have to face this war alone, or friendless, and that together we can end this war before it devastates us all.”

It seems as though the world shrinks with each word out of Khadgar’s mouth, that all of Stormwind, of her armies that fight ever increasing skirmishes against Gul’dan’s bolstered orcs, and the realms that Lothar is providing protection to just by blocking the orcs advancement north, all fall away. In this moment, he’s speaking to Khadgar alone, beyond the greatness of their duties and the impossibly convoluted ways that may one day try the might of their resolve.

“I accept your vow as Regent Lord. And in return, I vow never to abuse you or your books. I vow to seek your council, and to request your aid as often as I can, and only order it if I truly believe I must.” Lothar steps forward, putting his left hand between them at chest level, palm open, and when Khadgar takes it, he keeps him close. “And as your friend, not as your Regent Lord, I vow never to lose track of you, to remind you of your roots here where there are those who care for you and never want to see you suffer. I vow to remind you there is more than books and obligations to this world, that when we fight and suffer it is because we know love and know that the lives we’re protecting know love as well. We are in this together, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Khadgar whispers.

Archbishop Faol clears his throat loudly. “Well. Gentleman. If I could see you both in my office, please. For a drink.” He turns and walks briskly away, muttering much lower, “I know I can use one.”

Khadgar shrugs, and they both turn to follow.

“Mommy? What happened?” Lothar hears Adariall ask, but when the door to the Archbishop’s office closes he can hear no more.

The Archbishop pulls three tumblers out, and a flask of brown liquor, pouring generously. Lothar takes his glass, appraises it and the Archbishop. Maybe it’s just been a long time since he attended the Church, but it seems the man in charge is one Lothar should really get to know better. The Archbishop takes his glass and takes a gulp immediately, so Lothar follows suite. Khadgar holds his glass with uncertainty, as if he hasn’t decided he wants it just yet but found it impolite to outright refuse.

“Ah, that’s better.” Faol says. “So. I’m compelled by my position as head of the Church of Light of Stormwind, and, oddly enough, by the Holy Light itself, to inform you that you are now married.”

Lothar cough violently, and Khadgar loses all color in his face. “Excuse me?”

“Your vows, though unconventional, were undeniably marriage vows.” Faol takes another sip. “Good ones, actually. Especially for a warrior. Or a mage. And I know you two were too busy making doe eyes at each other to notice, but the Light itself blessed your marriage.”

Silence. So Faol continues. “As your holy advisor, I must point out how highly unusual it is to elope,” he taps one finger, “in front of an ordained Archbishop,” taps a second finger, “in the Holy Church of Light,” he taps a third finger, “with the Crown Prince and Queen Mother present.”

Khadgar and Lothar stare at each other for just long enough that Lothar can see the panic eat at the boy’s composure, and then Khadgar is nothing more than a flurry of robes fleeing for the door. “I need to go to the library!”

“Khadgar!” But it’s no use, the boy has blinked out of the Church itself. Lothar sighs, melting back into the chair, suddenly too tired to give chase.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen anyone flee immediately _after_ the altar, either. Never show? Yes. _At_ the altar? Many times. This is also a first.” Faol says, pouring himself another drink. He offers the flask to Lothar who waves it off.

“You and I, we’re going to be friends. But I should go find-”

“Your husband?”

Lothar grimaces. “Yes. Him.”

“Light be with, Lord Regent.”

“The Light’s done enough, thanks.”

Outside the Archbishop’s office, Adariall Wrynn stood with her arms crossed. “Uncle Lothar.”

Oh boy.

“You promised! You promised I could be your flower girl!”

Oh no. Lothar shoots his sister a pleading look, but Taria just shakes her head. “Well, Addy, I didn’t know.”

“That you promised I could be your flower girl when you remarried?!”

“No. I knew that. I didn’t know I was getting married today.”

Adariall just looks confused. “But you always know when you meet your true love.”

Lothar laughs, and gets down on his knees to look her in the eye. “Adariall Wrynn, how many times will I have to tell you that life is not like the storybooks?” He reaches up to cup her face, smiling his bravest smile even as she looks at him, confused. “It’s always harder, and it’s always more complicated.”

“Then what about you and Khadgar?”

Lothar is at a loss there. Not that he hasn’t contemplated it, just that an actual relationship with Khadgar never seemed like an attainable option. Despite working together, fighting together, bickering and bantering together, despite the unmistakable bond of trust they formed, there was always this perceived boundary neither of them were willing to cross. And now that barrier was crossed. What then?

Taria had finally moved from her seat on the pew, coming behind to rest her hand in Adariall’s hair. “Come now, daughter. Your uncle will answer you when he has answers. Preferably after he speaks with Khadgar.”

“Uncle Khadgar.” The entire family turns to Varian, who hasn’t said more than two sentences since his father’s funeral. The child still looks tired, perhaps from all the nightmares, but at least he’s moving, even if it’s to leave the church by himself. “He’s Uncle Khadgar now. Mother? I’m hungry.”

When Lothar enters the Library, after walking Taria and his niece and nephew back to the Keep, the first thing he notices is the band of light wrapped around his left wrist, attached to a trail of light that winds through the shelves. Inevitably, it leads to Khadgar.

“I’m not good at this.” Is the first thing Khadgar blurts when Lothar rounds the final shelf. His eyes are wide. “Light is new to me.” Lothar stalks forward, and Khadgar’s words grow closer and more desperate with each step, “I know you don’t want it,” Lothar closes the book he has open, “I shouldn’t have ever-”

And he is finally silenced as Lothar pulls him into a kiss. It’s strange, at first, dry lips catching on where Lothar had wetted his, Khadgar tense in his arms, still holding the damned book. It becomes strange again, when the book is dropped, and Khadgar’s soft hands are on his face, guiding him in and around Khadgar, the boys lips parting so he can wet his own lips, an opportunity too good for Lothar not to take, Khadgar moans when Lothar licks into his mouth, claiming it.

It’s only when they’re both dizzy enough Lothar braces against the bookshelf that they separate, and then only by a few inches, their foreheads pressed together, panting in each other’s breaths.

“I can’t believe,” Lothar says when he gets enough air back in his lungs to entertain complete words, “you left me at the altar before we finished up and kissed.”

Khadgar laughs, a bright and free sound. “I can’t believe you married me without noticing.”

Lothar nudges him with his shoulders, grin incandescent. “Like _you_ noticed either. You started it!”

“I did not!” Khadgar insists, “You asked _me_ for a vow.”

Lothar’s eyes draw down to Khadgar’s lips and back. “So maybe I did.”

“You know,” Khadgar says, his fingers plucking at Lothar’s shirt, “There is another tradition newlyweds perform on their wedding night.”

“Have you ever--well-- _done this_ before?” Lothar asks, though he’s increasingly distracted by how deftly Khadgar can remove his tunic. The mage in question doesn’t pause, but fixes Lothar with a look.

“Lothar, what exactly do you think happens when you announce to a roomful of teenagers that there is a high probability they will be asked to give up their sexuality in order to advance their studies?” Who is this fond and flirty creature? What has he done with Lothar’s easily-flustered bookworm? The fingers he admired so much are on his own belt now, loosening it, the fabric it moves making him suddenly and desperately aware of how aroused he is. “Half my seminar were high elves, for light’s sake.”

“Wouldn’t that make--,” Lothar’s throat dries when Khadgar sinks to his knees and he has to swallow, “--the sacrifice harder?”

Khadgar shrugs, his eyes focused on the tenting fabric of Lothar’s fine breeches. “Some believed so. But virginity was never prerequisite to a vow of celibacy.” Khadgar rolls down Lothar’s pants, licking his lips when his cock springs free and ruddy. “Some even believed a vow from a non-virgin was stronger than that of a virgin, since they more fully understood their sacrifice.”

At the first touch of Khadgar’s hand to his balls, whatever Lothar may wanted to have said fled, and he can only watch in wonder as Khadgar cups him in his palm, and licks the head of his cock with his tongue. Lothar loses track after that, his world reduced to the bookshelf digging into his back, the wet heat of Khadgar’s mouth as he steadily works his way to using his throat around Lothar’s dick. It’s when Lothar feels Khadgar’s nose nudge his pelvis that he loses all control barely having enough time to tap Khadgar’s head and gasp, “I’m--!” before coming down his throat.

Khadgar steps up, breathing hard, but with a glint in his eyes Lothar’s only ever seen when the mage thinks he’s about to get away with something extremely clever and barely technically possible. “You should take me to your room--”

“ _Our_ room.” Lothar corrects, still floating in a post-orgasm headspace.

“--to _your_ room,” Khadgar insists, his tone wicked and unrelenting, “and then, you should help me make it our room.”

Oh. _Oh._ Lothar pulls himself together enough to nod. “Yeah. Alright. We can do that.” But he stops Khadgar from running off, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand with adoring eyes. “Husband.”

Khadgar swallows, his lips flickering up as the joy of realization blooms. “Husband.”

Lothar leans in close. “Let me pull my pants up first, hmm?”

And, in the laughter that follows, Lothar gets the first of many threats of divorce he’ll be sure to ignore in the coming years.


End file.
